


I'm Yours Alone, and I'm In Love To Stay -- 31DOL2018

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Activism, Actor Harry, Angst, Anniversary, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanvids, Fetus Direction, Fetus Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Fluff, Food Fight, Gen, Judge Louis, M/M, Meditation, Mile High Club, Protective Louis, Returning Home, Scrabble, Skiing, Sleepy Harry, Supportive Boyfriend Louis, Supportive Harry, The X Factor Era, Touchy-Feely, Touring, Weddings, idk there's 31 different disconnected scenes a lot happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: 31 short(ish) ficlets written for the 31 Days of Larry. Canon-compliant scenes ranging from this year all the way back to the very beginning.Part of the purpose of this event was to encourage people to donate to Louis' and Harry's birthday charity drives. If you enjoy these pieces, please consider making a small donation. Louis' drive for the Eden Dora Trust can be foundhere, and Harry's drive for Switchboard can be foundhere.Thank you, and enjoy.Title from Frank Sinatra's "Day By Day"





	1. A is for... Advocacy

Louis leans against Harry, his ankle wrapping absentmindedly around Harry’s beside him. He leans closer to the laptop open on the bed in front of them. 

“This one sounds really neat,” he says, pointing to the website for Covenant House open in front of them. “They work with and for youth on all different levels – shelter, food, support, education…”

“Plus they work in political arenas,” Harry agrees. “Raising awareness and advocating for concrete change.”

“Fixing the problem as it stands, and working to prevent it in the future,” Louis says, smiling. “Two birds.” 

“It’s settled, then,” Harry says, pulling the notebook beside him to a better angle. “June 16, Toronto – Covenant House. What’s next?”

“Boston,” Louis says. He rolls onto his back, stretching. “Have I mentioned that I love that you’re doing this? And how fucking proud of you I am?”

Harry laughs. “Only about a hundred times,” he says. “It’s selfish, though, too. I love giving back. I love how it makes me feel.”

“Pretty sure that’s not selfishness,” Louis says, poking Harry with his foot. “Pretty sure that’s just you being the epitome of a good person.”

“Shut up.” It’s hard for Harry to sound serious when he’s smiling so hard, his eyes crinkling and his cheeks dimpling and Louis loves Harry’s smile. “I was just thinking, like, there are other ways I could use this platform. Like, money is one thing, but it’s not everything.”

“Said like a rich boy,” Louis says, chuckling.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Louis sits up. “What are you thinking? Speeches? Guests? Volunteering?”

“I dunno,” Harry says, scratching his chin. “I don’t want to be, like, over the top about it necessarily. It would just be nice to give a voice to causes that need it. To raise them up, get them seen.”

“You could wear suits advertising for them,” Louis suggests, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Or hire someone else to do it and stand next to you in pictures. I know you wouldn’t wear anything that gauche.”

“Shut up,” Harry says again, not meaning it at all. 

“Rude,” Louis says, not meaning it either.

They’re quiet for a moment, thinking, until finally Harry shrugs.

“I dunno, just a thought,” he says. “Boston?”

“Boston,” Louis agrees.

The moment is left behind, the stillness with it. But Harry remembers it perfectly when he opens a letter from Louis a few days into the North American leg of the tour. 

_Miss you already,_ the note says.  _Can’t wait to see you again. In the meantime, a little present. Much more aesthetic than a suit._

Inside the envelope are a pair of “End Gun Violence” stickers. Harry smiles, and gives them a place of honour on his guitar.


	2. B is for... Bears

“Absolutely not,” Louis says when Harry shows him. “This is just rude. I’m being attacked. How dare you.”

Harry can’t stop laughing. He’s not sure he’s stopped laughing since he found it.

“It’s perfect,” he wheezes. “Everyone will know it’s you. They’ll love it.”

“You’re all mean to me,” Louis says, pouting prettily. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

He’ll cave. Harry knows he will. He can already see the amusement in his eyes, the excitement for everything they’ll be able to create and the mischief they’ll cause. 

The first bear had been happenstance. Thrown onto the stage and then adopted, a humorous game. Then things had grown, expanded, and as their voices were silenced, they spoke in other ways.

Harry hadn’t set out to get a second bear. He really hadn’t. He’d just been out shopping, hat pulled low over his hair and eyes in hopes that no one would recognize him, but as he’d passed by the display of stuffed animals he’d spotted it.

Small, cute, gently round, and above all rainbow – it was perfect.

And in hindsight, it was essential. They’d always been more in sync than any two people had any right to be, but they were still two very different people. Now they would each have their own (silent) voice.

“It’s perfect,” Harry says now. “You know it is. The things we can do with this…”

A reluctant smile is twisting across Louis’ face. “I can’t wait to see how antis try to explain this one away,” he admits. 


	3. C is for... Chaos

Harry is breathless with laughter as he runs down the backstage hallways, a tangerine clutched in each hand. Louis is a few steps ahead, armed with a bag of grapes and with a banana sticking out of his back pocket.

He lifts a hand as they approach the corner, and Harry tries to quiet his gasps as they slow to a cautious halt. Louis pads forward on silent feet, peering around the wall to check for attackers – or targets. Either would be fine, Harry knows, because either would be fun.

There’s no one in sight, however, and so they push on, walking close together.

Harry has no idea how Louis does it. He has no idea how he manages to turn anything into a game, how he manages to find mischief in any moment, and above all, how he manages to get away with it, with everyone loving him regardless.

Then again, Harry’s one to talk. He’d fallen in love with him from the word go.

They spot another intersection ahead and their pace quickens with anticipation. Louis squeezes Harry’s hand, his eyes alight and dancing with excitement. They’re almost there when Harry feels something squishy strike him in the back.

“Hey!” he exclaims, spinning. “Lou, we’re under attack!”

Niall, Sandy, Josh, and a stagehand are racing down the hall towards them, armed with an assortment of fruity weapons. Sandy appears to be carrying the entire fruit bowl from one of the green rooms.

“They’ve spotted us!” Niall yells, at the kind of volume that only an Irishman could manage. “Charge!”

They do. Louis and Harry charge right back, flinging their own fruit, and the fray quickly loses sides, devolving into everyone against everyone else.

At last, their ammo is spent, and they collapse on the floor, still laughing.

“Who do you think won?” Josh asks when he’s recovered a bit of his breath.

Harry glances around. “I don’t know who won,” he says. “But I think the fruit _lost_.”


	4. D is for... Domestic

Harry is loading the washing machine when he hears the quiet footsteps coming up behind him. He pretends not to notice, bending over to grab another armful of clothes. A faint sound comes from the doorway as he straightens – a chuckle, an appreciative hum, a moan, Harry can’t tell. He repeats the movement, and the sound comes again, louder. When he straightens for the third time, he feels a warm body press up behind him, and he smiles.

“You’re a bloody tease,” Louis whispers in his ear, his voice rough and his breath hot on Harry’s neck. “You know I love your arse.”

Harry laughs. “I got that impression,” he says, pressing back against what he’s quite confident is not a banana in Louis’ pocket. Louis’ breath hitches in a way that makes Harry smile with satisfaction. And then he steps forward, tossing the last armful of laundry into the machine and turning it on.

Louis squawks with indignation and crowds forward, trapping him between his arms against the machine. Not that Harry feels particularly trapped. There’s no place he’d rather be.

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” Louis says, softly. His voice is still husky with sleep in the way that sends shivers up Harry’s spine; he must have come looking for Harry as soon as he woke up to an empty bed. Not that Harry doesn’t love waking up together, but their first morning home, he wanted to get settled. It’s a small thing, but laundry, cleaning, cooking – it makes him feel grounded, like he’s rooted somewhere, in contrast with the constant dislocation of tour.

“What’s that, babe?” he asks, feigning a nonchalance that neither of them believe.

Louis moves closer, and Harry can feel the heat coming off his skin, the fire of his fingertips matching the fire in his eyes. “Wanna drop to my knees and suck you off right here,” Louis says. “Won’t let you come, though, want you right on the edge. Want you squirming, want you desperate, want you _begging._ ”

Harry’s heart is pounding, and he knows Louis can feel it. He’s already hard, though not as hard as Louis by the feel of it. Still, he schools his face into a pleasant neutrality. It’s a game, they both play it, and the best part is – they both win, no matter what.

Louis’ voice dips still lower, worming its way under Harry’s skin. “And then I’ll turn you around,” he murmurs, “and fuck you against the machine. You’ll probably come all over the floor, have to clean it up on your hands and knees with that beautiful little bum of yours swinging around in the air...”

“Perfect place for a mess,” Harry says, his voice forcibly cheery. “Easy cleanup, just toss it all in the wash.”

He pulls away from Louis with a concerted effort, his jeans uncomfortably tight. Louis lets him go, a frustrated smile mixed with a confused scowl playing across his lips. “What are you playing at, Haz?” he asks.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Harry says, smiling innocently. “I’d hate for you to faint halfway through.”

“While I’m balls deep, you mean?” Louis says, equally innocently, and Harry lets out a laugh that becomes a gasp as Louis brushes a hand against the front of his trousers. Louis’ grin turns wicked. “All right,” he says pleasantly. “What’s for breakfast?”

Louis has always been maddenly good at this, at turning the game on its head at a moment’s notice, the second Harry feels like he’s in control – and then suddenly _he’s_ the one who wants to drop to his knees.

Harry’s head is spinning slightly, but he manages to answer. “French toast,” he says. “With bacon and fresh fruit.”

“Sounds delicious,” Louis says cheerily. “I can’t wait.”

He walks out of the laundry room, hips swinging _just_ so and Harry wants to stop him, grab him, spread him out right there on the linoleum until he’s trembling. It takes every bit of his willpower not to.

They only get halfway through preparing breakfast before they cave – neither of them can quite remember which one gave in first. Perhaps it was mutual.


	5. E is for... Evidence

Louis wakes up to gentle nudging. He makes a displeased noise, pressing his face back into the pillows, but the nudging doesn’t stop.

“Lou,” says the soft voice that he still can’t believe he gets to wake up to almost every morning. “Lou, babe, wake up, look at this.”

He rolls over, reluctant and sleepy, but can’t help returning the smile he finds on Harry’s face. “What is it?” he asks as he stretches, his muscles slowly finding their way into wakefulness.

Harry doesn’t answer for a moment, and Louis grins impishly. “Undressing me with your eyes again?”

“You’re already naked,” Harry points out, his voice slightly dazed as his eyes trace up and down Louis’ body, the thin silk sheet preserving only the faintest modicum of modesty. “Not much undressing to do.”

“I know I’m gorgeous,” Louis says, flicking Harry’s arm. “But I presume you woke me up for a reason.”

Harry sighs in fond exasperation. “Can’t a guy appreciate getting to watch the most beautiful man in the world wake up in his bed?”

Louis props himself up on one elbow. “The most beautiful man in the world, eh?” he says. “I quite like the sound of that.”

Harry shrugs. “Well, one of them anyways. Ryan Gosling is pretty high up there too.”

Louis squawks in indignation. “Rude.”

Harry giggles. “Anyway,” he says. “FreddieIsMyQueen uploaded a new video.”

Louis sits up immediately. “Ooh, let’s see,” he says. “What’s this one about?”

“Sexual tension,” Harry says. He glances at Louis. “Do we have any of that?”

Louis strokes his chin in feigned thoughtfulness. “Not sure,” he says. “Let’s watch and see.”

Fifteen minutes of loaded glances, lingering touches, charged whispers, and mimed innuendos later, they sit back against the pillows. Louis glances at Harry and finds him grinning. He knows he’s smiling just as much.

“What do you think?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs. “I’m convinced,” he said. “Those guys are definitely banging.”

Harry rolls on top of Louis, his eyes bright. “Well,” he says, “they will be.”


	6. F is for... Fetus

It was all happening so fast. One day he was a kid who hoped he could be a singer. The next, he had a ticket to X Factor Bootcamp and a chance at everything he’d ever dreamed of. One day, they’d been five solo singers, each trying to be the best. The next, they’d been a group, each wanting every one of them to be their best. One day, he was home with his family. The next he was in the X Factor house, alone.

Except he wasn’t really alone. None of them were, not with so many people buzzing around at all times. There was always someone making a snack or watching television or chatting in the halls – anywhere, really. It was almost impossible to get any privacy. And yet, somehow, it still felt lonely sometimes.

And then there was their room. Five teenaged boys crammed into one tiny bedroom, clothes scattered everywhere, and a faint aroma of old sweat always hanging in the air. It was almost claustrophobic at times, and sometimes he just wanted to get away.

But then there were the others. The other contestants were kind and funny and supportive, and he loved them all. He loved Aiden’s friendly nature, loved Mary’s enthusiasm, loved Cher’s nerve. And they were all there for the same reason, because they loved music. They were all chasing the same dream, hoping against hope that maybe they’d be lucky enough to make it.

And then there was the band. He didn’t know how they’d clicked so fast, but almost from the beginning it had felt right – natural, even. They fit, in a way five strangers had no right to – but they did. Their voices complemented each other, but their personalities meshed too. They were so different in their own ways, but they balanced each other. They had their own roles to fill, and they all pitched in willingly.

But there was one boy in particular… he smiled, just thinking about him. He always smiled, thinking about him. There was one boy, whose eyes were bright and whose smile was contagious and who made his heart pound in his chest. There was one boy who he looked at like he’d hung the stars, and he’d gladly help him do it if he asked. There was one boy who he wanted to sit next to for hours and talk about everything from his family to his favourite book to his thoughts on pencils versus pens. There was one boy he wanted to lie next to for hours in comfortable silence. There was one boy who he hoped – he _thought_ – might just want to hold his hand as much as he did.

It had all happened so fast, he thought. But he wouldn’t have changed a thing.


	7. G is for Gentle

Louis hits the button to shut the garage door behind him and glances over at the passenger seat. Harry is fast asleep beside him, his head resting against the window and a peaceful expression on his face. Louis smiles, watching him for a moment, then opens his door and climbs out.

He crosses to Harry’s door and opens it, shaking his shoulder gently. “Haz,” he says softly. “Babe, we’re home. Let’s get you to bed.”

Harry grumbles incomprehensibly, and Louis chuckles. He reaches around Harry and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on, love,” he cajoles. “I’d carry you, but I’d probably wind up in a truss.”

Harry sighs, pushing himself grudgingly out of the car. He stumbles as he tries to stand, and Louis is there, steadying him, pulling Harry’s arm over his shoulder.

Harry smiles. “Thanks, babe,” he says, pressing a clumsy kiss to Louis’ hair as they make their way inside. “I don’t know why these things always wear me out so much.”

Because they’re exhausting, Louis wants to answer. They’ve been out for hours, at some awards show and then some industry afterparty. They’ve been wined and dined and socialized almost to death. It’s exhausting.

And they’re used to it, is the crazy thing. They’re  _good_ at it. Between Harry’s natural charm and Louis’ charisma, they’ve always been good at it. Now, with the status that comes with success and the practice of so many years, it feels almost natural.

But it’s still draining. It’s a performance, in its own way – a different one from the usual drain, but a performance nonetheless. 

“It’s late,” Louis says instead. “Past your bedtime, little one.”

Harry smiles sleepily. “‘m big,” he says, but there’s no force in it. Harry may be taller, but they both know he loves it when Louis takes care of him.

The stairs prove a bit tricky, Harry stumbling twice, but Louis is a solid anchor beside him, and they make it to the top without much trouble. Louis pushes open the door of their room, and Harry collapses atop the bed as soon as they reach it. Louis watches him for a moment, looking so young and soft like this. Almost like when they first met, when they first fell in love.

He shakes himself before he can get too distracted and leans over, unfastening Harry’s belt with practiced ease. Harry rouses himself enough to kick off his own shoes, but lets Louis do most of the rest.

He eases Harry’s suit trousers down his legs, draping them over a nearby chair rather than leaving them in a heap on the floor like he usually would. He takes his time unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, peeling it back from his chest, and he can’t resist pressing a few soft kisses to the milky skin it reveals.

Harry’s hand catches his cheek, a soft caress, and Louis looks up. Harry’s gaze is sleepy, yes, but there’s so much tenderness in it that it makes Louis’ breath hitch.

“I love you,” Harry whispers.

Louis swallows around the lump in his throat. “I love you too,” he says. “So much.”

He finishes undressing Harry, then pulls off his own suit, leaving it on another chair. By the time he crawls into bed, Harry is already under the covers, his breath low and steady. He worms closer, wrapping his arms around the lanky form, pressing his lips to the soft brown hair that fans across the pillow. 

He falls asleep with a smile on his face and the man of his dreams in his arms.


	8. H is for... Home

It’s nearly three in the morning, and Harry can’t sleep. He rolls over, as though maybe this time the change in position will help when it didn’t the last 26 times. It doesn’t. He’s exhausted, is the thing, his very bones ache with it, but he can’t fucking sleep.

He’s tried every technique he knows – a shower, a soothing tea, breath control, muscle relaxation, calming sounds, counting sheep. Nothing has worked. It’s been two hours, and he hasn’t gotten more than a few restless minutes.

It’s silly, he can’t help thinking. The bed is absolutely luxurious, enormous, with a mattress that feels like he’s lying on cotton candy and blankets that are soft and thick. The sheets are silky smooth and the pillow is just the right texture. The room is cool and quiet and completely dark.

But he can’t sleep.

The bed is too big. It doesn’t smell like their pets or their washing powder. There’s no warm body beside him, no soft sound of breathing or of the wind in the trees outside. He’s alone. And more than that, he’s lonely.

He’d told Louis he’d be fine. Harry had been tired after the concert, fighting off a mild cold, but Louis had been wide awake and ready for more. He’d offered to come back to the hotel anyways, but Harry insisted he go.

“I’m a big boy,” he’d said. “Liam and I can take care of ourselves. You go have fun. Bring me back a souvenir.”

He’d meant it. He wants Louis to enjoy himself, wants him to have a great night, wants him to drink and laugh and dance – with or without Harry.

But he also misses him. He also wants him to come home.

Harry doesn’t know how long it’s been when he hears the click of the door; he only knows he’s still awake. He doesn’t sit up or speak, too tired to move, just listens as Louis putters around the suite, brushing his teeth, using the toilet, changing out of his dirty clothes. He feels him as he crawls into bed, still smelling faintly of dried sweat, spilt beer, and cigarettes.

“Hey, gorgeous boy,” he hears Louis whisper, and feels a soft kiss pressed to his back. “What are you doing still up?”

Harry hasn’t moved since Louis entered the room, but Louis can always tell, even tipsy and tired.

“Jus’ couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his tongue clumsy with sleep. A few seconds later, he adds, “Missed you.”

Louis chuckles, but Harry can hear the frown in his voice. “You should’ve called me,” he says. “You need your rest. Especially when you’re ill.”

“‘m fine,” Harry protests. “And you deserve to have fun.”

Louis sighs, but he’s smiling. “I could have at least stayed on the line until you fell asleep,” he says. “Next time, call me.”

Harry nods, his mind already fuzzy. With Louis’ arms around him, the sleep that had felt so distant mere minutes ago is already closing in.

“I love you,” he murmurs, as he feels himself falling.

Louis’ whispered, “I love you too” is the last thing he hears.


	9. I is for... Ill

Louis sneezes, blowing his nose for what feels like the hundredth time that day. The skin is red and tender, but he can already feel his nose starting to run again. 

He hates being ill.

Harry walks into the living room, carrying a steaming mug. “Tea with lemon and honey,” he says, pressing the cup into Louis’ hands. “Drink it.”

Louis smiles weakly, coughing before taking a sip. Warmth courses down his throat, soothing some of the scratchiness. “Thanks,” he says, his voice thick. 

“Of course,” Harry says, leaning down.

Louis quickly turns his head, and the kiss that was meant for his mouth lands on his cheek instead.

Harry pouts. “No kisses?”

“I’m sick,” Louis reproaches. “I don’t want you to catch it as well. Bloody miserable, this is.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re sick,” he says. “Besides, we spend enough time around each other, I’ll pick up all your germs regardless. Might as well enjoy it as much as we can.”

Louis stubbornly shakes his head.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss Harry – he absolutely does. He always wants to kiss Harry. Sometimes it’s all he can think about. 

But it’s also not really about protecting him. Not that Louis doesn’t want to protect Harry, always, from everything, but he knows he’s right. They’re around each other as much as they can be, and they share everything. If Harry’s going to catch his cold, there’s very little Louis can do about it.

But.

Resisting Harry’s advances, difficult as it is, has another advantage.

Namely, Harry is cute when he’s feeling grumpy. He’s also very, very attractive when he’s feeling needy.

As predicted, Harry flops onto the opposite end of the sofa from Louis, a scowl pulling his eyebrows together. “Be that way,” he says.

It’s funny, really, Louis thinks, because Harry knows Louis is right about him getting sick, but he also knows that Louis can never resist him for long. Yet he’s still grumpy. 

They both pretend interest in whatever is playing on the TV, without actually absorbing a single word. Harry slowly worms his feet under Louis’ thigh, leans back against the arm of the sofa, bites his lip in a  _most_ distracting way. It’s all distracting, really. It’s intended that way.

Eventually, Harry stands up, stretching, and Louis smiles as he watches the tiny strip of golden skin peek between jeans and t-shirt. Harry glances back at him, giving him the tiniest of winks, then turns away to rummage through a chest of drawers.

Louis props himself up on his elbow. “Whatcha looking for, babe?” he asks, appreciating the curve of Harry’s bum as he bends over the drawers. It would look so much better without all the clothes in the way, but it’s still beautiful.

Harry straightens, a triumphant look on his face. “Blankets,” he says. “You keep rubbing your hands together.”

Louis hadn’t even realized he was cold. It didn’t matter. Harry could tell.

Louis smiles as Harry drapes the blanket over him, tucking the corners in tight. “Thanks,” he says. “You take such good care of me.”

“Course,” Harry says, touching Louis’ cheek gently. “Always.”

Louis catches his hand, pulling Harry down beside him. He comes willingly, pressing tight to Louis’ side. He’s beautiful, and soft, and warm, and Louis wants to kiss him.

Harry’s lips are as beautiful and soft and warm as the rest of him, and Louis tastes mint and strawberries and tea and he loves him.

Harry kisses him back, deep and desperate and Louis loves him like this, loves him every single way. “I thought you didn’t want me to get sick,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips, not pulling away for a second, and Louis is about to retort when Harry nips at his bottom lip and Louis is momentarily robbed of all power of speech.

“If you get sick it’s your fault,” he says at last, gasping out the words between greedy kisses.

Harry laughs into Louis mouth. “My fault?” he says. “You kissed me.”

“You wanted me to,” Louis retorts. “And you kissed back. With tongue.”

He licks deep into Harry’s mouth, as if to demonstrate, and Harry makes a mewling noise that is  _entirely_  too attractive, and suddenly they are far too distracted for even the pretense of bickering.

As predicted, by the next week, Harry is sneezing up a storm. This time, it’s Louis’ turn to wrap him in blankets and bring him enough tea to fill a bathtub – their four person jacuzzi bathtub.

It all balances out.


	10. J is for... Jet

Harry lies sprawled across the absurdly enormous sofa that dominates their room of the plane. His head rests comfortably in Louis’ lap, Louis’ fingers absently massaging his scalp and twining through his hair. It’s dark outside the windows, nothing but empty ocean and night as far as the eye can(’t) see.

“I can’t believe that in less than three days we’ll be back onstage,” Harry says, breaking the silence.

Louis’ hands still. “On the road again indeed,” he muses. “Can’t believe we’ve been at it this long. It’s unreal.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “I hope it never stops feeling that way.” They lapse back into silence for a moment before he speaks again. “Are you nervous?”

Louis smiles. “Are you?”

“A little,” Harry admits. “Not that I’m not looking forward to it all, but just - there’s so much pressure. So much that could go wrong. And so little of it that we can control.” He shrugs. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

“We won’t,” Louis says, and his voice is so certain that Harry can’t help but believe him. “I get what you’re saying, but babe – they’re as happy to see us as we are to see them. And they’re not coming to see some elaborately constructed show, with costumes and choreography and shit. They’re coming to see us being us. Being idiots.” He chuckles. “Honestly, I think they might be  _more_  disappointed by a perfect show.”

Harry laughs. “Wouldn’t be very appropriate to our  _brand_ , would it?” He adopts the voice that all the marketing execs seem to use, uniform enough that Louis has wondered more than once if they’re required to take a class on it. He does a remarkable job at it, and Louis shakes his head, smiling.

“Not our style at all,” he agrees. “We’d be unrecognizable. It really is unreal. There’s absolutely nothing remarkable about us, and that’s what people like.”

“Excuse you.” Harry pokes Louis in the side. “You are one of the most remarkable people I know.”

“You are one of the most biased people I know,” Louis counters. “Except possibly my family. But you give them a run for their money.” He shakes his head. “That’s not my point though,” he says. “You know what I mean. We’re gonna go out there and we’re going to give them the best time we know how. And we’re going to do that by having the best time  _we_ know how. That’s how this works, how it’s always worked.”

Harry shakes his head, laughing. “How the hell did we get this lucky?” he asks.

"Hell if I know. I was just glad I didn’t have to keep studying for my A Levels.”

Harry laughs. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah. You love me, though.”

“Prove it.”

Harry has heard that there are few phrases more effective at creating sexual tension, and as he feels Louis’ dick twitch beneath him, he knows it’s true. He smiles innocently at Louis, who rolls his eyes.

“Get up here,” he says, and Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

What starts as a satisfying snog quickly turns desperate and dirty, clutching at each other’s clothes, and when Louis accidentally rips Harry’s sleeve they decide that things would be much easier without clothes.

“As card-carrying members of the Mile High Club,” Louis gasps, tugging off Harry’s jeans (which, speaking of members,  _hello_ ), “what say we renew our membership?”

“Naughty,” Harry says, nipping at Louis neck. Louis’ head tips backward and he lets out a sound that’s half yelp and half moan. “You always have been one for pushing boundaries, eh?”

“You say that like you weren’t the one who suggested it the first time,” Louis says. The memory of that young Harry, fresh-faced and innocent-looking and  _completely_  shameless, makes his already aching cock stiffen still further. “Always so eager,” he pants.

“And now who’s eager?” Harry asks, peeling Louis’ boxers off and tossing them into some darkened corner to be forgotten. “Guess we match, really.”

Louis arches under Harry’s touch. “Soulmates,” he agrees.


	11. K is for... Kids

Whenever Harry watches Louis with Lux, he can’t help imagining what he’ll be like with their own kids someday. He’s always so sweet with her, so tender and patient and everything Harry could hope for. 

“Eyes over here for a mo,” Lou Teasdale says, and Harry reluctantly looks away to let her finish his makeup. 

Still, he can hear Lux chattering away to Louis about her dolls and her drawings and her dog which Harry is pretty sure is imaginary. He can hear Louis’ responses, asking her questions or making jokes, always sounding so interested in what she has to say. 

Louis has always been able to do that with everyone he meets, be it businessmen or fans or celebrities or stagehands or anyone else at all. It’s part of his charm and his charisma. But Harry loves that he gives Lux that same undivided and genuine attention.

“Eyes. Here,” Lou says again, and Harry turns back with an embarrassed grin. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved. “I know my daughter is adorable, but so am I,” Lou jokes. “Or actually, you can close your eyes, I need to do them.”

Harry obeys, closing his eyes as Lux bursts into a peal of delighted giggles at something Louis has said or done. He smiles too, helpless and in love and he wouldn’t change any of it if he could. 

A few minutes later, Lou releases him from his chair and he stands, stretching. Lux races over and grabs him around the leg, gleefully exclaiming, “Unc Arry! Unc Arry!” Harry laughs, bending over to scoop her up and lift her into the air.

“Who’s this little rascal attacking my leg?” he asks, shaking her gently as she squeals in delight. “I might have to get it amputated! I’ll be hopping around on a peg leg like a pirate!”

Lux giggles. “Pir’ Arry!” she says, clapping her hands. “I wan’ Pira Arry!”

Louis chuckles as he climbs into Lou’s chair. “Think that one mighta backfired, babe,” he says. “Now she’ll be trying to get that leg off twice as hard.”

“I can defend myself,” Harry says, laughing. He sets Lux down on the ground. “Would you like to be a pirate too?” he asks her. “The Dread Pirate Luxy?”

Lux looks like she’s considering this seriously, thinking hard for several seconds, before her face breaks into an ear-to-ear grin. “Yes!” she cries. “Wanna be Drip Pie Lux!”

Even Lou laughs at that one, which provides enough distraction for Harry to swipe two bottles of hair product as makeshift swords. He hands one to Lux and holds out the other defensively. “En garde!” he cries, tapping his bottle against hers.

“Grar!” she echoes, charging forward. Her aim is terrible, but her energy is high, and Harry finds himself pushed backwards by the assault of tiny blows. 

At last, he falls dramatically onto his back, flopping around like a fish out of water, “I’m beaten,” he announces. “I’m slain. You got me, Drip Pie Lux!”

She squeals again, flinging herself at him, and he has just enough time to catch her. Lux’s little arms wrap tightly around him as he sits up, and he hugs her back. As his chin tucks over his tiny shoulder, his eyes catch Louis’ – just for a moment, but it’s enough. He’s spent years memorizing those eyes, can read them anywhere. Especially when he’s sure his eyes are saying the exact same thing.

He sees the future in Louis’ eyes, and all the hopes and dreams for what it will hold. He sees Louis’ love for him and for Lux and for the children they’re someday going to have together – they’re still debating about adopting versus surrogacy, but they know they want them. He sees love and certainty and commitment and forever.

And he knows Louis can see the exact same thing reflected right back at him


	12. L is for... Loud

Liam presses his pillow over his head, wishing desperately that it would block out the noises coming from the next hotel room over. He should have raised more of a fuss when he was put next to them. But he hates acting like that, hates seeming demanding or rude.

And it’s not that he doesn’t love Louis and Harry. He does. He really does. And he’s happy for them, really. He’s glad they’ve found each other, glad they’ve been so good for each other.

But sometimes, he wishes he didn’t know _exactly_ how good they make each other feel.

Louis has never been one to moderate himself or do anything by halves. It had taken Liam quite some time to get used to Louis’ intensity and energy, to adjust to his affection and cuddliness and humour and vibrancy and just… _everything_ , all at once. He speaks his mind, shows his emotions on his face, and what you see is exactly what you get.

Liam admires his strength, his honesty, his genuineness. He really does. He wishes he could have that kind of confidence, that kind of force of personality. It causes its own issues when it comes to the pretending – and Liam gets that, doesn’t begrudge him one bit, even if the complications that arise as a result sometimes frustrate him. But it’s never Louis he’s annoyed with, it’s the situation. Louis is what he is, and Liam could never resent that.  He tries his best to smooth over the speedbumps, to tell the lies that Louis and Harry can’t, hoping that he can drown out the volume of everything they’re not saying, at least enough to protect them.

But that openness and volume that is such an intrinsic part of Louis’ voice and personality doesn’t have any more boundaries than Louis does. And as Liam hears yet another string of creative expletives winding around Harry’s name, he wishes Louis had a few more boundaries.

He probably wouldn’t phrase it that way to them, though. It might give them new ideas.

Liam knows he’ll be exhausted in the morning. But he knows Louis and Harry will be glowing. And honestly, it’s a trade he’s willing to make.


	13. M is for... Mirroring

Harry has always been in love with love. He’s always wanted a fairytale ending, a true love’s kiss, a big white wedding and a forever. He wasn’t sure he believed in it, but he wanted it.

Now, though… Louis laughs whenever anyone says anything about soulmates, but Harry can’t help but wonder. They just… fit so well, it seems more than luck, more than nature. And it’s not just that, not just their personalities.

It’s everything. It’s the fact that more often than not, when Harry goes to look at Louis, Louis is turning to look at him too. It’s that when they’re doing interviews, whenever Louis moves to grab a water bottle, Harry has just bent to pick up one of his own.

After so many years living in each other’s pockets, it’s not surprising that they would pick up on each other’s actions and become attuned to each other’s needs. But as much as Harry notices when Niall is feeling claustrophobic or Liam is feeling insecure, he doesn’t notice when they’re out of water, and a meaningful glance requires a nudge first.

Louis and Harry aren’t allowed to play on the same team in charades, their ability to guess what the other is thinking from the scantest of clues both baffling and bothering any opponents. And even eerier still, Harry has lost count of the number of times he’s put his head on Louis’ chest and found their heartbeats keeping perfect time. Gemma has even told him that sometimes they blink in sync.

They fit. Science doesn’t have an explanation for it. Harry doesn’t have an explanation for it. But he doesn’t need one.

He loves Louis with everything he has, everything he is. And he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Louis feels the exact same. Soulmates or not, science or not, they’re tied to each other in every way they can be. They’ve been through thick and thin together, days where they felt like everything they wanted was theirs and the world was spread out before them, and days where it felt like everything was crumbling around them and falling through their hands. They’ve lived through the best and worst, cheered each other on and picked each other up, and they always will.

Harry wakes up each morning and sees the love he feels reflected back at him in the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. And he wouldn’t trade that for the entire world.


	14. N is for... Next to you

Harry is trying to focus on the interview. He really is. But it’s the fifth one this day after a full day of the same thing yesterday and the questions are all ones he’s heard a dozen times before and he’s just  _drained_  okay? How can they expect anyone to focus for this long on this little?

He feels Louis’ leg bump gently against his, and the briefest of glances shows him a flash of sympathy before they both return to pretending to pay attention. Sitting beside Louis makes these junkets a touch more bearable, but they’re still exhausting, almost dehumanizing. 

Thankfully the interview wraps up a few minutes later, and they’re sent for a break before the next one – a whole twenty minutes to recharge, eat something, go to the loo, try to force some life back into their eyes before it all begins again. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Harry heads straight for the green room, intending to try to get a few minutes rest. Louis follows him, and Harry gives him a grateful smile.

“How are you holding up?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “Tired,” he says. “I’ll manage. You?”

“Bored,” Louis says. “You’d think someone would come up with a new question, but apparently not. There’s only so many ways to say ‘this album is a lot like our previous one except for being completely different.’”

Harry chuckles in spite of his exhaustion. “You’re the one who’s always been good with words,” he says. “I’m sure you can find a few more ways.”

“Flatterer,” Louis says, laughing as he pushes open the door to the green room. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Harry flops on the nearest sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. The dark and quiet and coolness is welcome after the hot lights and constant chatter and bustle of the interview room. It helps, the strain and pressure easing slightly, but Harry knows it won’t last. Twenty minutes isn’t enough. 

He feels Louis slide onto the arm of the sofa, his gentle hands brushing through Harry’s hair, smoothing his forehead and massaging his temples. He feels himself relax a bit more, Louis’ touch soft and sweet and he’s so grateful every single day that he got this lucky. 

“How are you really?” he asks after a few minutes.

Louis sighs. “I love this job,” he says. “But there are times I hate it.”

“Anything I can do-”

“I know.” Louis taps him gently on the nose. “I’ve got you, babe. That’s all I need. That’s all you need to do.”

Harry uncovers his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the fluorescent lights, but Louis’ smile is brighter still. 

They sit like that for a few moments before Harry sighs and pushes himself up. “Time to head back?”

“Probably.”

Harry grimaces, feeling a headache building in the back of his skull. Louis grabs a bottle off the table and offers it to him – paracetamol. 

“You’re creepy sometimes, you know,” Harry says, shaking two pills out of the bottle and setting it back. He swallows them dry – his ENT would chide him, but she’s not here, so.

“I know,” Louis says. “Back to battle?”

Harry sighs. “Guess so,” he says. He reaches for Louis’ hand, lacing their fingers together, and smiling as he feels Louis’ gentle squeeze. 

“I’ve got you,” Louis says softly, and it’s a double meaning. He has Harry’s back, will protect him and take care of him, and Harry couldn’t bee more grateful. But he also has Harry to do the same.

They’re a team, stronger than the sum of their parts, and with Louis at his side, Harry knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t face.


	15. O is for... Optimistic

They lie next to each other on the bed, the only movement the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they breathe each other in. It’s been a hard day, too much lying and fighting and pretending. Their eyes are shut, their foreheads pressed together, their arms wrapped around each other, a brief respite from the pressures and pain of the world.

“I can’t wait until this is all over,” Harry says, and Louis opens his eyes to look at him. “I can’t wait until we’re finally out of their control, and we can be whoever we want, do whatever we want. I can’t wait for the day I can walk down the street holding your hand, or kiss you on the red carpet, or just go grocery shopping with you. It’s going to be perfect, someday.”

His eyelashes are clumped together with dampness, but when he opens his eyes they’re full of so much hope and belief in all the possibilities of the future. Louis wants it too, wants to be able to take Harry on dates or talk about songwriting without having to weigh every word for fear of giving away too much. He wants it so much he can barely breathe sometimes.

But it’s hard to hold onto hope when when it keeps hurting instead. When he’s seen so many almosts and maybes crumble before them until dreams feel almost like a grenade, and if he keeps them too close they’ll take him down with him.

He’s not hopeful. But he’s not afraid either. Not when he can feel Harry’s soft breath on his neck, Harry’s warm hand on his skin, Harry’s love bright in his eyes. He doesn’t dare to dream of a future where they’re finally free.

But that’s not what matters.

“We’ll make it through this,” he says instead. “We’ve faced worse than this, and made it through every time. There’s nothing they can say or do – nothing  _anyone_ can say or do – to change that.”

He doesn’t think about the future he can’t predict. He focuses on the  _now_ that he  _knows._ He  _knows_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he loves Harry, that Harry loves him, that together, they can weather any storm. He  _knows_ , the kind of knowing that settles in his bones, that no matter what, he’s not giving up.

“I want to adopt,” Harry says, smiling. “I want kids and cats and dogs – and I know you do too, even if you complain that our house will be a zoo. I want a big wedding with all our friends and family, want to show the world how much I love you, how much I’ll always love you.”

“And I will always love you,” Louis says. “With a diamond ring or a piece of string.” He presses his lips to Harry’s forehead. “You make me strong,” he whispers. “Together, I know we can make it through any darkness they try to throw at us. There’s nothing we can’t overcome.”

They have different ways of making sense of the nonsense they have to live with, but it works. They balance each other, dreams and determination, and through it all, they know everything they need to know.

They know they have each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you watched FreddieIsMyQueen's video ["I am not Optimistic"](https://youtu.be/4xE3KU4Ku8c) lately? Because you should do that.


	16. P is for... Protective

They’ve lost. They’re out. It’s over.

They’ve _lost._

Louis can feel the bottom drop out of his stomach as he hears the words from Dermot’s mouth, hears the name and it’s not theirs, it’s not them, they’re not through they’re _out._

He’s happy for Rebecca and Matt, he really is – they’re great people, they’re so talented and kind and they deserve success, but – it still feels like someone has dug into his stomach, talons wrapping around his intestines, and then the floor has disappeared beneath him leaving him dangling by that agony.

He wants to cry. He can hear Liam’s shuddering breath behind him, can feel Harry seem to fold into himself behind him, and knows he’s not alone. But he won’t cry, not here, not where everyone can see him. That’s not what he wants to leave people with. He has his pride, even if he has nothing else anymore.

The montage of their time on the show starts, clips of auditions and performances and comments and Louis can barely see. He just wants to get away. He stumbles through Dermot’s questions, his ears ringing, clinging to composure with everything he’s worth.

And then they’re offstage and they crumble.

Tears leak from Liam’s eyes, silent and painful and Louis remembers that this is his third try, remembers how hard he always pushed, remembers how much he wants to be good enough. Niall plops down in a corner, his head in his hands, and Louis tries to remember if he’s ever seen the Irish boy this quiet before. Zayn leans against a wall, looking like he wants to punch it.

And Harry. Harry wilts, his entire body seeming to go limp. The light has gone out of his eyes and even his curls somehow seem less springy.

“I thought we were gonna make it, Lou,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I really did.”

Louis squeezes his hand tightly, just for a moment. “We will,” he says. “You heard Zayn, you heard Simon. This isn’t the end. This is only the beginning.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping out at the corners. “I know,” he says. “But Lou, what if-”

“Don’t.” Louis has thought about the millions of what ifs a million times each. He’s tortured himself with them, every single possibility of what could go wrong. It doesn’t make the disappointment any less painful, but if he thinks about them now he’ll collapse. And he can’t collapse. Not when people need him.

“I’m still on for London if you are,” he says instead. “We can get a flat together, maybe a dog. You can teach me how to cook. Maybe the lads will live nearby, we can have them over for board game nights.”

Harry’s smile is faint, but it’s there. “I want a cat,” he says, and Louis would promise him a flamingo if he thought it would keep that smile on his face. He’d find a way to get one too.

“We’ll get a cat,” Louis says. “We can do this, Haz. This one thing didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean everything else will crumble with it. We can still make it.”

Harry’s eyes are still damp, but they’re no longer dull and empty as he pulls Louis into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” He pulls away, touching Louis’ cheek gently. “Go,” he says. “I know you want to help the others. I’ll be fine.”

Louis nods, ruffling Harry’s hair gently. He’s not sure he believes him, but Liam looks like he’s starting to hyperventilate. He turns to go help, but Harry’s voice pulls him back.

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m here.”

Louis’ chest aches, and he manages a smile of his own. “Thanks,” he says, his voice soft so it doesn’t crack. “I may need that.”

Louis has raised four sisters and seen his share of emotional outbursts, and after three months of living with Liam through something that no one can understand who hasn’t lived it, Louis knows what Liam is feeling, and what he needs. So Louis holds him, feeling his shoulder grow damp with tears as he whispers soothing words, reminding Liam of everything he is, everything he’s done for them, everything he’s achieved, everything they have ahead of them. They’re not over, he assures Liam. They’re a team now.

Liam’s tears slowly dry, his sobs fade to hiccups. He’s not okay, none of them are, but he’s on his way. He’ll get there.

Louis checks on Niall, who seems more dazed than upset – though Louis suspects that will come later. “Just say the word if you need anything,” he tells him, squeezing his shoulder gently, and Niall nods.

Zayn greets Louis with an acerbic comment about how he desperately wants a cigarette but he might burn down the building if he pulled out his lighter. Louis smiles, recognizing the sharp humour – it’s how he copes too. When faced with pain or disappointment or sorrow, he makes a joke. It’s easier than feeling it sometimes. But it can only be put off for so long. Still, for now he’s managing.

When they retreat to the dressing room, Harry comes to stand beside him. Louis tries to give him a half smile. “Hanging in there?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says. “But you’re not. Come here.”

Harry pulls him in close, arms wrapped tight around him, and for the first time that night, Louis finally lets himself cry.


	17. Q is for... Quiet

There’s a softness to Louis as he sleeps. The tension drops out of his body and his face is smooth, all the worries and frustrations wiped away. His lips are just barely parted, and Harry can hear the softest of snores as he breathes in and out.

Harry runs his fingers gently through Louis’ hair, watching him shift slightly in his sleep. He preens Louis, smiling at the contented noises Louis makes. He looks so young like this, so carefree. Harry wishes he were always so carefree. It’s beautiful – not that Louis is ever anything else, but this is an entirely different kind of lovely.

Louis’ eyes open slowly, and Harry almost doesn’t notice for a moment.

“Did I wake you?” he murmurs when he does. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“‘S fine,” Louis says. He reaches out, running his hand along Harry’s side. “You look thinky.”

Harry shrugs. “Just thinking how peaceful you look.”

“I feel peaceful,” Louis says. He rolls onto his back, stretching, and Harry is mesmerized by the way his skin moves over his muscles.

Louis doesn’t sound much more awake than Harry feels, but he doesn’t want to sleep just yet. He wants to cling to this suspended moment for just a little bit longer. In the dark and the solitude of the night, time feels frozen in place, the past an almost forgotten memory and the future a distant perhaps.

“It’s nice,” Louis says, and Harry can’t tell if Louis is just continuing his previous thought or if he accidentally spoke aloud. Or perhaps Louis is just reading him again; he’s always said Harry is an open book. He doesn’t agree, but Louis has always been a different story.

He reaches for Louis, wrapping their hands together, and Louis smiles, soft and sleepy. “C’mere,” he says, and Harry complies willingly, tucking himself against Louis’ chest. He can feel the gentle rise and fall of Louis’ breath, feel his exhalations tickling the hairs on the back of his neck, and he smiles.

He feels warm and safe in Louis’ arms, feels protected and loved and whole. Louis is already asleep again, and Harry can feel himself following, but he wants to remember this moment. In the morning, time will keep moving forward again. But moving forward doesn’t have to mean leaving everything behind. He wants to hold onto the silence and the softness and the stillness, draw it into himself for the days where they feel like foreign concepts. He breathes it in, trying to fill himself with it, press it into the corners of his mind and weave it into the fibres of his memory.

When he breathes out again, he’s already asleep.


	18. R is for... Ribbing

“How many suits are you going to try on, babe?” Louis asks, laughing. The others had left almost an hour ago, satisfied after half a dozen different options. But Harry is only satisfied with the best, and so Louis waits, reclining on the settee in the dressing room, a glass of wine in his hand as Harry tries on suit after fantastic suit.

“I want to look perfect,” Harry says, discarding yet another shirt, and Louis will never get tired of seeing those abs. Maybe Harry should just go shirtless.

“You could go in jeans and a t-shirt and the media would still say you were the most fashionable person there,” Louis points out. “You always look perfect.”

Harry pulls another shirt off the rack, rolling his eyes. “The media is full of shit,” he says. “And you’re biased. I can’t trust any of your comments; you just say everything looks good. Why are you even here?”

“Everything does look good on you,” Louis says. “And you think I’d pass up the chance to watch you strip for me this many times?”

Harry cackles, making a show out of slowly pulling the belt out of his most recent trousers. “Like this?” he asks.

Louis’ mouth goes dry, but he forces himself to nod nonchalantly as he takes a particularly large sip of wine. “Exactly,” he says.

Harry starts moving his hips as he pushes the trousers down, and it’s like he’s some kind of snake charmer and Louis is falling under his spell – except the _snake_ is what’s doing the charming, instead of the other way around.

“Don’t start anything you’re not willing to finish,” Louis warns, and Harry makes a face.

“Spoilsport.”

“Do you want your trousers to wind up being too big because you couldn’t judge the size right?”

Harry looks mildly horrified at the thought, and Louis bursts into laughter.

“You’re the worst,” Harry says, tugging the trousers the rest of the way off and grabbing the next pair.

“I just know you, babe,” Louis says. “Know all your… sensitive spots. Oh, hello, I _like_ these.”

“You think?” Harry fastens the florally patterned trousers around his waist. “Not too much?”

“I mean, you look a little like you’re wearing curtains,” Louis says. “Very _Sound of Music_ -esque. But those _curves_ , I’m drooling.”

He sets down his wine as he rises, tracing his fingers along Harry’s hips. “If you get it taken in just a little, it’ll really accentuate your waist,” he says. “And – spin for me – oh _yes,_ those squats have definitely paid off – don’t tell me you haven’t been, the evidence is right here, staring me in the face. In fact, I want to bury my face in it.”

Harry is giggling hysterically, his face bright red. “If that’s a risk, maybe I shouldn’t,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to lose control on the red carpet.”

“I can control myself in public,” Louis replies, straight-faced. “As long as I get to, ah, properly enjoy it when we get home.”

“But won’t you be… uncomfortable?” Harry asks, his face the absolute model of innocence.

Louis thinks of the trousers he chose an hour ago, which were already a bit tight when he tried them. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” he says. “Worth it.”

Harry pulls on the blazer, twisting around as he inspects himself in the mirror. Louis can tell he likes the suit; it’s _so_ him – absurd, so far outside the box it’s probably never even seen it, but somehow still beautiful. He’s weighing it, considering the others he’s tried, suits set aside for being too bland or the wrong shape or just somehow not quite right. But this one…

“You really like it?” Harry says.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “What, you trust my opinion all of a sudden?” he says.

Harry hip checks him softly. “You know I do,” he says. “You play dumb but you’ve got a good eye for things. And I know you’ll be honest, even if you are a hopeless flatterer.”

“You deserve all the flattery and more,” Louis tells him. “And I really do like it. Not everyone could pull it off, but it looks made for you.”

Harry twists one more time, adjusting the set of the jacket on his shoulders, and nods. “Okay,” he says.

Louis grins. “Great,” he says. “And as a bonus, after the show, we’ll have a brand new set of drapes.”


	19. S is for... Supportive

Louis stretches out on a couch, staring at the ceiling as someone strums absently at a guitar to his left, someone else tapping at a piano to his right. He nods along to the disjointed melodies, talking aloud to no one in particular or singing half-formed snippets of lyrical maybes. A recorder set up in the middle of the room will pick up whatever they come up with, good or bad. It’s not fancy, but it works for him.

The process is familiar, but the other writers he’s with today are less so. With the increased flexibility of the hiatus, he wants to take full advantage to try new things and expand his horizons. From different cowriters to different genres to different methods, he’s excited by the promise of freedom from the constraints of writing for a heavily commercialized and branded band. He’s not totally free, not yet, but it’s a start. He’ll take it. For now.

His phone rings, the electronic jingle joining the discordant music. It sounds good, Louis thinks absent, letting it play for a moment. Maybe he could work that in somehow.

He shakes himself, tugging out his phone to look at the screen. _My Hazza <3,_ the display reads, a picture of Harry flashing up at him. He changes the picture every so often, never able to choose a single favourite for long. This one was taken a few weeks ago, as they lay in bed together. Harry is sleep-soft, his eyes half-closed and his hair going every which way, but his smile makes Louis feel warm inside every time he looks at it.

“I need to take this,” he says to the others, getting to his feet as he swipes to accept the call. “I’ll be right back.”

He steps into the hall, shutting the door behind him. “Hey,” he says, pressing the phone to his ear. He can already feel the smile spreading across his face, the way it always does when he talks to Harry. Or thinks about him, really. “How are you?”

“I’m fucking fantastic,” Harry says, his usually leisurely voice almost frenetic. “Oh my God, Lou, holy shit.”

“Slow down,” Louis says, laughing. “What is it?”

“I got it,” Harry says. “They just called, and Lou, I fucking _got_ it, I can’t believe it.”

“Got-”

“Dunkirk.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “You got it?” he cries. “Oh my God, that’s amazing!”

“I know!” Harry says. Louis can almost picture him, eyes bright, pacing around the room, hands waving. “I can’t believe it! Fuck, Lou, I’m so fucking happy.”

“And I’m so happy for you,” Louis says. “I know how much you wanted this, and – holy shit, this is amazing. This is huge. Definitely calls for breaking out that good wine you keep telling me to save for a special occasion.”

“You’re always looking for an excuse to break out the good wine,” Harry says, laughing. “But on this occasion, I have to agree with you.”

“Just save some for me,” Louis says, chuckling.

“Will do.” There’s a rustling sound on Harry’s end, and Louis wonders if he’s not already opening the bottle. “Hey, how are you doing? How’s the writing going?”

“It’s interesting,” Louis says. “Very different from working with Julian and Jamie and the others. But I’m enjoying it. I think we’ll get some good stuff.”

“You always make good stuff,” Harry says, laughing.

“I only _show_ you the good stuff,” Louis retorts. “I’ve made plenty of garbage; I just recognized it for what it was.”

“We’ve literally written together,” Harry says. “Far more songs than will ever see the light of day, but not because they’re not fantastic. You’ve got a real gift for this, Lou.”

Louis smiles. “Thanks,” he says, and he means it. “I should get back-”

“Right, right, sorry,” Harry says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go write me another song.”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Louis teases. “Someone’s getting spoiled.”

“Who’s doing the spoiling?” Harry retorts. “It’s not like I’m saying anything we don’t both know.”

It’s true, and Louis doesn’t mind admitting it.

“Oh, one more thing,” Harry says as Louis is about to hang up. “I’m supposed to keep this under wraps – they’re going to make an official announcement soon, but until then, it’s a secret. I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you either, but like-”

“Doesn’t count,” Louis says, waving a hand. “We’re practically married. And I can keep a secret.”

Harry chuckles. “There is that,” he says. “Anyways. I love you.”

“Love you,” Louis says. “See you soon.”

The others look up expectantly as Louis re-enters the room, and he feels almost uncomfortably scrutinized.

“What was that about?” asks Hunter. “Sounded exciting.”

“Oh, uh.” Louis pauses, trying to decide how much he should say – how much he can say. “My, uh, my friend got a job. And it’s just… really good. It’s a really good job.”

 Jordan nods. “Cool,” he says. “Tell your friend congrats.” He plucks at the strings of his guitar. “Back to work?”

Louis nods. “Back to work,” he says. He’s feeling inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on that [quote](http://loveislarryislove.tumblr.com/post/163138814998/i-was-actually-in-a-writing-session-at-the-time) from Harry about how he found out he got the role in a writing session and said that his "friend got a job" which I firmly believe was actually how Louis found out.


	20. T is for... Tactile

Harry sits in the back of the car, Louis’ head on his shoulder, their hands tangled together in his lap. He watches the crowd thronging out the window – tinted, of course, so no one can see in. No one can see them. He has to keep reminding himself, resisting the urge to pull his hand away from Louis’. He’ll have to let go soon enough. In the meantime, he squeezes, softly, three times. _I love you_.

Louis squeezes back immediately, and Harry smiles as familiar butterflies take flight in his stomach. It’s been years, but Louis still has the power to make him giddy, with just a touch or a word or a look. He hopes they’ll never lose that.

“Nervous?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry considers the question for a moment. “Not really,” he says. “We’ve performed this song enough times, so that should be fine. And it while would be nice to win something, but really, I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished regardless.”

Louis chuckles. “Not that I don’t fully agree,” he says. “But that’s not really what I meant.”

“Ah.” Harry grimaces. “Yeah. I guess the scrutiny is a bit much sometimes. Like, knowing that every moment is being caught on camera from a million angles. Makes the possibility of… slipping up… a bit scarier.”

Louis brushes his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. “We’ll be okay,” he says. “We always are.”

Harry smiles, reluctantly pulling his hand out of Louis’ grip as they turn into the unloading area. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too.”

Then he opens the door of the car and steps out.

Liam, Niall, and Zayn are already climbing out of the car behind them, and they move to join forces before walking into the antechamber. Harry can hear the noise of the red carpet through the curtain, cameras clicking and fans screaming and interviewers yelling questions. They pause for a moment, checking their clothes and their hair in the mirrors.

“Your collar’s crooked,” Harry tells Louis, reaching over to tug it straight.

Louis reaches up to tuck one of Harry’s rebellious curls back into place. “Thanks, babe,” he says. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

One more five-way exchange of glances, and they step through the curtain.

It’s even louder out there, and music is even playing overhead, and Harry can hardly hear, but he smiles. He waves to the crowd. A man in a suit motions for them to stop along the carpet and they do, standing in a comfortable line. Louis is a solid presence on Harry’s left, a little too far away, but there nonetheless, and Harry is grateful. They move a few metres farther, then stop again, posing and smiling.

It’s always felt unnatural, Harry thinks as they cross to the other side of the carpet. Like, what’s the point of it anyway? Of walking down a fancy hallway, hundreds of strangers jostling each other to get a better picture of them just… standing there? Their suits aren’t even interesting, not like the dresses the women wear, just nondescript, drab colours and identical shapes.

Harry reaches their next mark first, Louis coming up behind him, and he turns towards him. They both stop themselves a moment later, and it aches. Something as simple as standing next to each other made almost dangerous.

He smiles anyways.

A minute later they’re up the stairs and into the building, disappearing into a river of celebrities, their staff, and the staff of the venue. Harry feels almost swept away, and is grateful for Louis’ hand on his back as they squeeze through the crowd.

“I’ve got you,” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear, the only way they can hear each other, even if it weren’t the only way they could speak. “Almost there.”

An usher guides them to their seats, and as Harry sits down he feels oddly anonymous.

“It’s like we’re nobodies in a sea of somebodies,” he tells Louis.

Louis frowns. “You’re somebody,” he says.

Harry laughs. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says. “I like it. I miss it.” He bumps his knee against Louis’ beside him. “You’re my favourite nobody,” he says.

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re my favourite idiot,” he says.

They spend almost the entire ceremony playing footsie under the seats. It makes Harry even happier than the award.


	21. U is for... Underdog

“I don’t know what to do,” Louis says for the fourth time that night. “I just – god, it’s a nightmare, isn’t it?”

Harry sighs. “It’s hard,” he agrees. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s hard either way.”

“Cause say I do, right.” Louis has talked this through with himself too many times, he’s told Harry more than once, but he still hopes that somehow this time he’ll reach a satisfactory answer. “I’d get the chance to work with people – with kids, really, just like we were – to help them learn and grow and achieve their dreams. I’d be able to help prepare them for all the things we weren’t prepared for.”

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as a mentor,” Harry tells him, and Louis knows he’s heard it all already but he’s so grateful that Harry still listens – really listens.

“But then, I just become a part of the machine,” he continues. “I perpetrate exactly what’s been done to us. And the more I help those kids to succeed, the more trapped they’ll be. The more deeply _he_ will be able to dig his claws into them.”

He tries not to use _his_ name when he doesn’t have to. It tastes rancid on his tongue, a poison he’s ingested too long but he's still not immune to it, it still eats at him. Only the wildfire of his own anger and determination has kept it from burning him down from the inside out.

Sometimes fighting fire with fire works. But sometimes, it only results in scorched earth and burn victims. Louis doesn’t mind getting hurt, but he hates it when other people are caught in the crossfire.

It’s just hard to tell which times are which.

“If I don’t do it, though,” he continues, “someone else will. God knows who, but someone will. Someone else will judge them, teach them, shape them. For better or for worse.”

That’s always the problem, isn’t it? Someone else might be able to do it better. But they might also do it much worse. And the worst part is, he isn’t even sure which would be worse – or better.

“What do you want?” Harry asks at last.

Louis opens his mouth, then closes it again. What does he want?

“I want to protect them,” he says at last. “I want those people to have their best chance at – at making it out alive.”

“And how can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know if I can. If I send them home – I crush their dreams. If I don’t, I bring them into this pit of vipers. I’m a monster either way. And I don’t really even have a choice about it – I can’t send them all home. I can’t save them all.”

“You’re not a monster.” Harry’s voice is solid and certain and Louis wishes he could believe him. “No one can save everyone. But most people don’t try – don’t even think to try.”

Knowing he’s right doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“You’re so strong,” Harry says, brushing his hand across Louis’ hair. “You carry the weight of the world and do it gladly so someone else doesn’t have to. But you can’t do everything. And if you let it crush you, then you can’t help anyone.”

“I just feel so stuck,” Louis says softly. “I’m damned either way. _They’re_ damned either way.”

“And what would you do?”

“I’d be in their corner,” Louis answers, without a moment of hesitation. “Whether they knew it or not. My team or not. Win or lose.”

Harry nibbles at his bottom lip, looking like he’s trying to decide what to say, or how to say it, or whether to say it. “Would you have wanted someone like that when you were on X Factor?” he asks at last.

Louis feels like he’s just been hit by lightning. “You’re right,” he says. “I have to do it.”

“No.” Harry’s voice is firm and demanding, almost a yell, but quiet. “That’s not – you don’t have to do it. Not if it will destroy you. There are other ways to help them.”

“Not as much.” Louis is sure now, finally, he knows the answer he’s been chasing for days. “I’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at me this far, I can survive this. For them.” He smiles at Harry. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ve always been stronger when it’s for someone else.”

“You’re not invincible,” Harry reminds him. “And you’ve always felt the pain sharper for others too.”

“I have to do this,” Louis says. “I have to – all this shit I’ve put up with has to be good for something. For them, if not for me.”

Harry shakes his head. “You scare me sometimes, you know,” he says. “The things I love most about you are the most dangerous.”

Louis traces his hand across Harry’s chest, resting it on his heart. “I’m your wildfire,” he says softly. “Some people I keep warm. And some, I burn.”

Harry puts his hand over Louis’, holding it in place. “Just as long as you don’t burn with them,” he says.


	22. V is for... Vibey

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Louis says, scowling at the letter tiles in front of him. “You always win anyways.”

“You’ll never improve without practice,” Harry says, propping his head up on his hands. He’s not bothered by Louis’ whinging; he always complains but he also always agrees so. “You were pretty close last week.”

“I’d rather play a real game,” Louis says. “Carcassonne, or Ticket To Ride.”

“Monopoly?” Harry suggests, smiling innocently.

“No.” Louis glares. “Don’t even mention that game.”

Harry laughs. “How about Mario Kart?”

Louis raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Which one?” he asks. “Though really, it doesn’t matter. I’m down either way.”

“Well you can pick the game next time,” Harry says. “In the meantime, it’s your turn.”

Louis heaves a long-suffering sigh that neither of them quite believe. “Fine.”

He picks up four tiles and lays them on the board. Harry cranes his neck to read the letters upside down. “Vibey?” he says. “That’s not a word.”

“Yes it is.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Says you.”

“Says the dictionary! It’s not a word!”

Louis pulls out his phone. “Dictionary.com says it is.”

“And Wikipedia said that David Beckham was Chinese,” Harry says, laughing. “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“Collins Dictionary has it.”

“We’re playing Scrabble,” Harry says, pulling out his own phone. “The only dictionary that matters is the Scrabble dictionary, which says… oh.”

“What?” Louis asks. “Oh wait, really?” He laughs. “I thought this was gonna be one of those things where you let me get away with it to make us both feel better, but it really is?”

“It really is,” Harry admits, gobsmacked. “Go figure.”

Louis laughs harder. “Maybe this is the beginning of a shocking upset victory,” he says. “My luck is finally changing.

Harry smiles. “Maybe,” he says.

It’s funny, he’s competitive at the best of times, but somehow – he wouldn’t mind losing to Louis someday. It would mean that Louis had improved, and would make winning a proper challenge, one that meant something again. He wouldn’t mind losing.

But only occasionally. Maybe.


	23. W is for... Wedding

Harry has to blink back tears as he watches Jay and Dan exchange their vows. He’s sitting in the second row, Louis on his right, their hands tightly intertwined, and he’s smiling so wide his face hurts, but he’s just so _happy_ for them. The look Dan’s eyes as he promises Jay to stand at her side, to love her children like his own, to be there for her through whatever life throws at him says he means every word, and promising his life to her is everything he could want. And the way Jay looks back at him… Harry feels like he’s intruding on a private moment.

He looks away, trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes. Louis glances over at him, his smile almost as bright as Jay’s. He rubs his thumb across Harry’s hand, and Harry never wants to let him go.

“Someday that’s gonna be us,” he whispers, the promise of that future so real he can almost taste the wedding cakes. “I’ll promise you the world, everything I can give. Til death do us part.”

“You’ve already given me everything,” Louis says softly. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

They’ve discussed getting married before. They know they want it for sure, it’s without question in their future. More than once they’ve thought about just _doing_ it, making official and legal what they’ve known for what feels like as long they can remember. But Harry wants to be able to share that moment with the world – a private wedding, still, with close friends and family, but he doesn’t want to have to hide it. He doesn’t want it to be a secret. He wants it to be a celebration, one everyone can see.

They don’t need a ceremony or a certificate to tell them what they already know. They’re content to wait.

But watching Dan and Jay share their first kiss as husband and wife, Harry can’t wait until the waiting is finally over.


	24. X is for... X Factor

Louis has the X Factor. Harry knows it from the moment he meets him, when Louis takes the time to comfort a frightened young boy in the middle of one of the craziest days of his own life. He makes Harry smile, then laugh, boosts his confidence and pushes aside his nerves. He makes Harry feel like he’s known him his whole life – and like he can’t wait to know more.

Harry worries he might never get to.

Harry has the X Factor. Louis knows it from the moment he meets him, all cherub cheeks and wild curls, full of youth and energy, even if that energy is mostly nervous at the time. And when he smiles, Louis feels like he’s just discovered a new energy source, one that could power the whole world. He’s awkward and uncertain and adorable and Louis knows people will fall in love with him.

Louis might already be falling in love with him.

Louis has the X Factor. Harry sees it in his drive at Boot Camp, practicing every spare moment, but still making time for impromptu singalongs in the stairwell. He says he wants to focus on the competition, on learning everything he can and giving his all to make it through, but he still finds friends everywhere he turns. People want to spend time with him. People pay attention when he speaks. People are drawn to him.

Harry is drawn to him.

Harry has the X Factor. Louis sees it in the way he immediately welcomes them all into his home, into his life, into his heart. After a week of late-night conversations and pizza and running from ghost-cows and a million other kinds of chaos, it’s easy to forget how recently they were complete strangers. A smile is never far from Harry’s face, an encouraging comment never far from his lips. He makes Louis forget to be nervous.

Louis wants to forget everything but him.

Louis has the X Factor. Harry feels it in the way their group falls together, Louis knowing exactly who needs a push and who needs a pull to feel at home. He makes his own space in their group – when their coaches say his voice isn’t as strong, his personality is. The videos are his idea, and then he’s the one who everyone talks about in the comments. He’s the one everyone is watching.

Harry can’t look away.

Harry has the X Factor. Louis feels it in how much he cares – about everything, sometimes almost too much. He does nothing halfway, feeling everything so much and all at once, going from dead serious so smiling so wide Louis thinks he’s glowing. Every song they sing, Louis _believes_ , but through every musical emotion is an undercurrent that says he’s having the time of his life – there’s nowhere else in the world that he would rather be than on that stage.

Louis doesn’t want to be anywhere else than at his side.


	25. Y is for... Youth

Flying headlong down a mountain balanced on two thin pieces of wood is one of the more absurd things the human race has decided is fun. But as Louis glances over at Harry beside him, trying to make himself as small as possible against the rushing wind to eke out a little bit more speed, he can’t help but agree.

He digs his poles into the snow, pushing himself faster and faster, and feels a giddy laugh burble up in his throat before being snatched away by the wind. Another glance at Harry shows he’s smiling just as wide, his teeth as blindingly white as the snow they’re racing over. Louis feels made of wind and snow and the brilliant exhilaration of speed.

They’re neck and neck as they reach the bottom, still laughing as they come to a stop in a spray of snow.

“I definitely won.”

“Did not. I was ahead of you.”

“You just slowed down later. I reached the bottom first.”

“Liar.”

“Cheater.”

“Doofus.”

They poke each other in the chest with mittened hands, smiles still wide and hearts still racing. After a few moments of bickering, Harry moves in to playfully grapple Louis, and promptly loses his balance, sending them both sprawling. Louis laughs even harder, and Harry joins in only a beat behind.

When they finally catch their breath, Louis rolls onto his back, staring up at the sky. It’s cloudy and white, the same colour as the snow, and the sun seems to shine from every part of it. He exhales, watching his breath fog in the air and then fade away before him.

A sound beside him makes him turn his head and he sees Harry moving his arms and legs in broad sweeping motions.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks after a moment.

“Snow angel,” Harry replies.

“Snow angel…” Louis smiles. He hasn’t made snow angels in years, and even then only at his little sisters’ insistence. But Harry makes it sound obvious, like the most natural thing in the world, and Louis finds himself copying him, stretching his arms and legs as far as they’ll go as he brushes away a layer of white.

When they get up to admire their work, Louis smiles. Their angels just barely overlap, their wings brushing gently against each other. He reaches out and takes Harry’s hand, watching the way their faint shadow mimics the angels.

They stand in silence for a moment, an unspoken knowledge passing between them, then Harry pulls away.

“Race you to the lifts,” he says, flashing that brilliant grin once again, and then he’s gone, pushing himself away down the hill.

“Hey!” Louis yells, quickly accelerating after him. “No fair!”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Harry says, laughing.

Louis pulls up beside him, matching his speed for a moment. “Which is this?” he asks.

Harry’s eyes are soft. “Both.”

Louis smiles, then puts on a burst of speed, leaving Harry behind in a spray of snow.


	26. Z is for... Zen

“If you’re going to make fun of meditation you should at least know what you’re talking about.”

Louis gives Harry a blank stare. “What the fuck are _you_ talking about?”

Harry leans forward from his crosslegged position and pats the floor in front of him. “Sit,” he says. “You’re going to meditate too.”

“Like hell I am!”

“You are.”

He probably is, is the thing. He’s never been able to deny Harry a thing. And as much as he teases him, he’s fascinated by the effect it seems to have on him, leaving him almost glowing. So as much as Louis complains as he drags himself to the spot Harry indicated, he’s curious – intrigued, even.

“Sit tailor-style,” Harry instructs. Louis gives him another blank look, and Harry lets out a breath that’s more laugh than sigh. “Criss-cross applesauce,” he says in a singsong voice. Louis rolls his eyes, but says nothing. He deserved that.

“Rest your hands on your knees, or in your lap, wherever’s comfortable,” Harry says next. “And close your eyes.”

Louis obeys reluctantly – he’d rather watch Harry, but Harry is watching him back and he can’t get away with it this time. “Now what?” he asks.

“Just listen to my voice,” Harry says. “Let everything else fade away.”

That’s easy, Louis thinks. Thinking about Harry is always easy.

“We spend so much of our lives thinking about so many different things,” Harry continues, his voice low and soothing. “We think about the past and the future, mistakes and worries and plans and memories. Our minds are so busy, so cluttered. We’re constantly distracted, constantly seeking new things to catch our attention. Meditation is about letting all that go. Being present in the moment. Letting your mind go quiet.”

Louis has never been much of one for quiet. He lives for the constant thrum of activity and motion in his veins, trying this and that and hopping from idea to idea. The idea of trying to turn that off is foreign to him. Still, he tries. He focuses on Harry’s voice, focuses on his breathing as Harry counts, tries not to tap his fingers or think about how stiff his legs already feel.

Eventually, Harry goes silent, settling deeper into his own meditation. And Louis tries to the same, he really does. But his mind keeps wandering and his foot itches and there’s a crick in his neck and finally he gives up.

He opens his eyes, stretches, leans back against the couch. He tries to be quiet, to not disturb Harry, who doesn’t move an inch. His eyes remain closed, his breathing steady and slow, his hands held in perfect circles on his knees.

Louis watches him – studies him. He looks relaxed in a way Louis almost never sees him, like the world around him has dropped away – and in a way it has, he supposes. If only for a moment, the entire universe has ceased to matter, to even register. Harry’s face is smooth and peaceful, almost radiant; his breathing is rhythmic as ocean waves against the beach. He seems smaller than he is, folded together in a way that Louis can’t quite believe he finds comfortable, and yet he seems larger than life, all long limbs and long fingers and long hair and a presence that fills any room he enters.

He’s beautiful. He’s fascinating. He’s _captivating_.

Louis could watch him forever.

At last, Harry opens his eyes. He looks up at Louis, slouching against the couch and most definitely not communing with his third eye or whatever, and he smiles.

“Not your thing?” he says.

“Not really,” Louis says, shrugging. “You knew that.”

“I figured,” Harry agrees. “But I still wanted you to try it. How was it?”

“Weird,” Louis says. “I just – stillness and quiet aren’t really words that anyone has associated with me, well, ever.”

Harry laughs. “There is that,” he says. “Different strokes for different folks.”

“Are you propositioning me again?” Louis asks, mostly to change the subject. “Is that what your chakras have told you?”

“That’s not how chakras work,” Harry says, laughing as he rolls his eyes. “But really, when am I not propositioning you?”

The serenity of the moment dissolves, and they fall back into their comfortable bickering and teasing. Normalcy.

But the next time Harry settles down to meditate, Louis doesn’t tease him. Instead, he waits until Harry’s breathing has slowed, and then sits down to watch.

 


	27. Up All Night

It’s almost three in the morning, Louis’ eyes are sticky with lack of sleep, but he doesn’t want to go to home. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of the magic that seems to surround him at every turn. He still can’t believe this is his _life_ now, surrounded by the rich and famous in their fanciest suits and dresses, expensive drinks and snacks – sorry, _hors d’oeuvres_ – being offered by smartly dressed waiters, and the knowledge that a tiny silver statuette now belongs to them as the “Best New Artist” of the year.

What is his life.

He spots Harry talking with a couple of people he vaguely recognizes – he thinks they’re probably actors or something, maybe presenters during the show. As he watches, Harry looks up, meeting his eyes and giving him a smile that makes Louis feel like he’s the only other person in the room. He half-wishes they were, wishes there was nobody watching and no cameras and no rumour mills and no need for modesty and nothing to think about but them. He wishes he could take Harry’s hand and slow dance with him in the middle of the room. But it’s too crowded and too loud and the music too fast and too exposed and they’re not allowed.

So instead, he makes his way through the crowd and presses himself to Harry’s side. “Hi,” he says, smiling at the others of the group. “I’m Louis, Harry’s bandmate.”

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” says one, reaching out for a handshake. “Andy. Really enjoyed your performance tonight.”

“Congrats on the win,” adds another, offering another handshake. “Well deserved. I’m James, by the way.”

Louis has never struggled to make friends, regardless of circumstance – he didn’t always like the friends he had, but he could always have them. But now… it feels unreal. Like the whole world wants to be his friend. Or, weirder still, like the whole world already thinks they are, already feels like they know him. Sometimes it makes his head spin, wondering where the line is between who he is and who people think he is.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, he wants to talk with these lovely people for a few more minutes, and then find an excuse to pull his even lovelier boyfriend off to a quiet corner somewhere.

They step out into the hallway, the sound of their footsteps loud on the stone floors and echoing around them. Louis takes Harry’s hand, feeling the way their fingers slot together like they were made for each other. It feels like coming home.

They don’t go far, only around the next corner into an empty hallway lined with photographs and benches, but it’s enough to feel private. A tension Louis didn’t realize had settled in his chest eases and he breathes deeply.

“We can go if you want to,” Harry says softly.

Louis shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just… a bit overwhelming sometimes. Everything happening so fast.”

“It’s a lot,” Harry agrees. “It still feels like it’s happening to someone else sometimes. Like… this can’t be my life.”

“But it is.” Louis shakes his head. “It’s crazy.”

They stand there for a moment, and then Louis steps closer, tucking himself into Harry’s arms. Harry holds him close, chin tucked into his neck, and Louis clings to him just as tightly. He wants to be this close always.

“I love you,” he murmurs to Harry. “I love you so much. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Likewise,” Harry says. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I still can’t believe I’m this lucky.”

“To get to call you mine,” Louis agrees, or finishes, he’s not sure which.

“I am yours,” Harry says softly. “Always.”

“And I’m yours.”

Harry’s lips are soft on Louis’, slow and gentle, like everything Harry does. His hands trace down Louis’ back and he shivers, wanting more. He always wants more, craves more, needs more. But for now, in this moment, as he kisses Harry back with fire and feathers, everything he has is perfect.

They return to the party a few minutes later, secret smiles tucked away in shirt pockets, and Louis will gladly stay until sunrise if Harry is beaming at his side.


	28. Take Me Home

Harry loves touring. He really does. He loves the thrill of being onstage, loves feeling the energy of the crowd in his bones, loves that he gets to do what he loves most for a career. He loves travelling to new places, loves meeting fans, loves spending time with four of his favourite people in the world. He loves his job.

But sometimes, he misses home. Sometimes he just wants to curl up in his own bed, no matter how nice the hotel sheets smell. Sometimes he just wants tea in his favourite mug, or to cook in his own kitchen where he knows where everything is. He wants to walk down familiar streets to find the familiar faces of his friends and family.

He loves his job, but he loves coming home even more. Louis drives – they could order a car, but it’s not the same. The feeling of watching the darkened streets turn into _their_ streets, the ones they’ve walked down and bought groceries on and had dinners on, it’s not the same from the back seat. So even though they’re both exhausted from the flight, they’re smiling as they watch the memories roll past the windows.

“I still can’t believe it’s over,” Harry muses, smiling at a park where he and Louis had picnicked the previous summer. “It felt like it would last forever, but then it was just… gone.”

“It’ll start up again before you know it,” Louis says, chuckling. “Not even two weeks, and then we’re off to Mexico.”

“Mexico,” Harry repeats, half-awed. A few years ago – hell, even last year – he’d never have imagined that his life would ever take him to Mexico. He’s excited, obviously. But a part of him wishes they didn’t have to go, wishes they could just stay in England, at least for a little while longer.

A minute later, Louis turns onto their street, and then they’re pulling into the garage and they’re _home_ , and the word has never tasted sweeter. Harry twists to grab his bag from the back seat, and when he turns back Louis has walked around the car to open his door for him. Harry’s heart flips and he smiles, the gesture small but meaning the world. It’s the little things, sometimes, the things that remind him that he’s still just in love as Louis as he was at the beginning, and that Louis is the same.

He steps out of the car, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Welcome home,” he murmurs.

Louis smiles, and then to Harry’s surprise, he bends down and scoops him up in a bridal carry. Harry yelps in shock, then dissolves into giggles as Louis stumbles slightly. His arms are locked around Louis’ neck, his head tucked against his shoulder as Louis carries him to the door. It’s locked of course, because they’re both idiots who forgot that they _hadn’t_ been idiots three months ago when they left, and Louis refuses to set Harry down so Harry has to scramble for his keys while Louis struggles with his shifting weight. At last, the lock clicks and they push the door open.

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis says as they step inside.

Harry giggles. “You always love to say that.”

Louis sets Harry’s feet gently on the ground and straightens. “I do,” he says. “I love having a place like this to call home, and I love having you to come home to.”

He kisses Harry, soft and sweet and sleepy, and Harry kisses him back. It’s familiar and it’s fresh and it’s _home._ Louis tastes like exactly where Harry belongs.

He has to pull back a moment later to yawn, and Louis bursts into laughter. “Past your bedtime, little one,” he teases, and Harry shoves him gently.

“Shut up,” he says, not meaning it.

“Make me,” Louis says, meaning it.

Harry kisses him again, quick and dirty, nipping at Louis’ bottom lip before pulling away. “If I pass out down here you’ll have to carry me up to bed,” he says, stretching. “And given how much trouble you had just getting me in the door, I don’t think you’d fare well on the stairs.”

Louis laughs but doesn’t disagree. They head upstairs in companionable silence, and Harry really shouldn’t be this happy about brushing their teeth together in their own bathroom, but he is. As they crawl into bed, the mattress and linens not quite as luxurious as the hotels they stay in but _theirs_ , Harry lets out a sigh of happiness. Louis lets out a similarly satisfied noise as he wraps his arms around Harry, pulling him close to his chest.

Harry doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

 


	29. Midnight Memories

Zayn loves nights out with Louis. He loves to lose himself in the music of clubs he can’t name, loves running down darkened streets in search of adventure, loves the wild things Louis dreams up once they get going, things he’d never have thought of – like climbing up the outside of a kid’s playground or somersault racing through parks.

He loves nights in with Louis, watching corny movies or shit television with massive bowls of popcorn. Sometimes Harry will join them, though Zayn has threatened to dump his bowl on them more than once when they got a little too distracted.

He loves seeing them together, loves how soft and supportive and strong they are with each other, but sometimes he just wants to drag Louis away. He’s not sure if it’s envy

He hates nights like tonight. Nights where Harry calls him and just says, “He needs you, Z.” And Zayn will always come, because as much as he hates seeing Louis like this, he’d do anything for him.

Louis is curled up in the corner of the living room when Zayn arrives, letting himself in. His back is pressed to the wall, his knees pressed tight to his chest, his cheeks red and streaked with tears. Harry sits at his side, rubbing his leg gently. Zayn crouches on his other side, reaching in to hug Louis.

“Hey, man,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Louis’ body is stiff for a moment, almost frozen, and then his arms wrap around Zayn, holding him so tightly Zayn is momentarily concerned for his ribs.

“Nothing is okay,” Louis chokes. “God, Zayn, I just hate it. I hate it all.”

“I know,” Zayn says simply. “It’ll be okay.”

Harry catches his eye, his hands twisting nervously around each other. Zayn nods. _Go,_ he mouths. _I’ve got him._

Harry nods gratefully and obeys, pausing only for a moment in the doorway to look back at them. Then he’s gone, probably headed for the kitchen for tea or stress-baking or something. He’ll be fine. Zayn has bigger concerns.

He carefully sits down beside Louis, who hasn’t loosened his grip an inch. Zayn runs his hand along Louis’ back, murmuring comforting words as Louis shakes beside him.

Normally, when Louis is feeling low, he turns to Harry. They’ve been through so much together, they understand each other like no one else can. But sometimes, the comfort Harry provides is twisted together with the pain until it hurts almost as much to have him as to miss him.

Those are the nights when Harry calls Zayn.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers after what feels like an eternity. “I know you have your own stuff, and this all probably seems-”

“Don’t apologize,” Zayn says, his voice slightly sharper than he means it to be. He softens it as he continues. “You have every right to be angry, to be hurt. Anyone would be. It’s not a competition. You’re so strong, Lou, but the stuff you’ve had to deal with… it would fuck with anybody.”

“I just…” Louis bites his lip. “I hate that I can’t protect him. I hate that no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Zayn wants to tell him it is enough, wants to tell him Harry wouldn’t ask for anything more. He knows that’s what Harry would say. He also knows that’s why Louis doesn’t want to tell Harry, doesn’t want to burden him further. It’s not about whether it’s enough for Harry. It’s not enough for _Louis._

“I can never decide what hurts worse,” Louis continues. “Lying, or watching Harry lie. Going on stunts, or watching Harry go on stunts. And I know it hurts him too, either way. And there’s just – nothing I can do. I’m helpless.” He chokes on a sob, and Zayn rubs tiny circles into his back.

Louis has always needed to protect people. He comes off as immature and irresponsible, but as much as he loves running wild, causing chaos and making mischief, he’s always the first one to notice when someone is feeling down or uncomfortable or afraid. He’s always the first one to volunteer for the hard jobs, or to pitch in for a charity event. Helping is in his blood, so being helpless… he almost doesn’t know who he is without it.

Harry always wants to fix it when Louis gets like this. Zayn wishes that were possible. But these nights are the nights when Louis is most honest with himself, and that honesty aches, but it’s also healing. He has to break himself open in order to be able to breathe again. Zayn can’t fix that. No one can. All he can do is sit with him, and bear witness – tell him, I’m here, I see you, you’re real.

Harry reappears in the doorway with a pair of steaming tea mugs, which Zayn takes gratefully. He presses one into Louis’ hands, wrapping his icy fingers around it and lifting it to Louis’ lips. Louis sips obediently, shivering as the burning liquid courses down his throat.

“You’ve got this,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you think. You’re a survivor, Lou. A fighter.”

Louis takes another sip and says nothing. His eyes are still damp, his face still drawn, but his breathing is easier. Zayn gives it five minutes before he starts to droop. After a good night’s sleep, he’ll be okay – exhausted, and not as lively as usual, but okay.

Four minutes and twenty-six seconds later, Louis’ head tips onto Zayn’s shoulder. He pulls himself upright, blinking hard, but Zayn knows it’s time. He pulls the half-empty mug from Louis’ limp grasp and sets it aside, then scoops Louis up. He feels almost feather light in Zayn’s arms, and fits perfectly. His head rests against Zayn’s collarbone, his breathing slow and deep.

Zayn carries him upstairs, and Harry finds him as he lays Louis on the bed. They tuck the blankets carefully around him, and Harry presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to say goodnight to Zayn, okay babe?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll be right back.”

Louis’ head moves slightly in what might be a nod, and Harry and Zayn step into the hallway, pulling the door almost closed behind them.

“How was he?” Harry asks quietly, waiting for Zayn’s signal – whether he heads for the door, or for the guest room that’s been designated as Zayn’s. It’s almost a barometer of its own; he doesn’t stay over every time, but sometimes Louis wakes up again in the night. And tonight was…

“Not good,” Zayn says honestly. He heads down the hall to the guest room, and Harry follows him with a worried sigh. Louis sometimes asks him not to tell Harry what he says, and Zayn lies and says he won’t, and Louis pretends to believe him. It doesn’t feel dishonest. There’s nothing Louis and Harry don’t share, but there are some things Louis just can’t say. “He feels guilty that he can’t protect you. That no matter what he does, what he takes on or what you do, it still hurts you both.”

Harry nods. “I do too,” he admits. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t,” Zayn says simply. “You just be there for him. Just like he will be for you. Just like I am for both of you, and Niall, and Liam. We’re a team. We’re a _family_.”

“Thank you,” Harry says as they reach the door. He reaches out, tugging Zayn into a hug that’s half gratitude and half a desperate need for comfort.

Zayn hugs him back. He feels both too. He’s grateful that Louis trusts him enough to open up to him. He’s grateful that Harry trusts him enough to call him. He’s grateful to know that they both have his back on the nights when he needs them. But he so desperately wishes that none of them needed it.


	30. Four

Liam takes another bite of his pizza as he looks around their little circle. Zayn is sprawled on his left, reclining on a pile of cushions. Niall is beside him, wrapped in a blanket, a slice of pizza in each hand. He alternates between them, a bite of the Meat Lover’s, then a bite of the Hawaiian. Harry is next, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, rings flashing in the light as he picks the pineapple chunks off his pizza to eat first. Louis’ head rests on his thigh, resulting in the occasional dropped piece of fruit on his face, which Harry usually licks off.

Liam smiles as he looks at them. They’re all so different from each other – and so different from who they were the first time they gathered here in Harry’s bungalow, a group of nervous teenagers, strangers thrown together by fate but determined to make the best of it. They had almost nothing in common besides a dream, and yet – they fit.

Four years later, they still fit. They’ve done so much together, travelled the world, performed on the grandest stages, met people that they never would have dreamed of (Liam’s still half convinced that meeting Justin Timberlake was a dream), they’ve grown and they’ve learned and they’ve stood side by side through it all. There have been days where it was the best job in the world, and days where it was the worst. But they were never alone.

Yesterday had marked four years since they were put together, their fates forever changed, for worse or for better. They’d been wined and dined at a fancy restaurant to mark the occasion, rubbing shoulders with the fancy suits who had put them here, or who wanted to be a part of where they went next. It had been nice, but almost uncomfortably fake – which he supposed was apt, in a way.

But tonight – tonight was just for them. No suits, no caviar, no champagne, just greasy pizza on paper plates and plastic cups of Coke. It’s not fancy, it’s not expensive, it’s just normal. It’s just _them_.

Liam sets down his slice of pizza and wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. Zayn glances over at him, curious, and Liam smiles. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, picking up his cup.

The others stop what they’re doing to look at him, leaving Harry with a half-drawn tomato sauce penis on his cheek. Liam has to look away to keep from laughing.

“I’m not much of one for speeches-”

“Yes you are,” they chorus, and Liam laughs.

“All right, maybe I am,” he admits, his ears pink. “But I think this occasion merits a little speech.”

He glances around to make sure, but no one says a word, waiting expectantly. He lifts his cup.

“I still can’t believe it’s been four years,” he says. “It seems like just last month we were on the X Factor together, and now… everything has changed. In ways I never would have imagined, never could have imagined.”

He smiles, meeting each of their eyes, and they smile back.

“I don’t know what’s next,” he continues after a moment, “but I just want you to know that I’m so grateful for everything we’ve had together. I’m so grateful to have found four of the best friends in the world to do this with. I can’t imagine what this would have been like alone, how much harder it would have been. But I don’t have to. Because I was never alone. I always knew you guys had my back, no matter what.”

“And you had ours,” Louis says softly.

There’s a murmured sound of agreement, and then Niall lifts his cup. “To us,” he says. “To teamwork. To sticking together against all odds. To the best friends a guy could have.”

“To four amazing years,” Harry adds, lifting his own cup.

Zayn follows suit. “And to many more.”


	31. Made In The AM

Niall feels comfortably floaty. The lingering effects of a few beers are still working their way through his bloodstream, and the hazy smoke of the joint they’re passing around fills his lungs. He takes one more puff, then hands it off to Louis beside him.

They’re all lying on their backs, heads together as they stare up at the ceiling and talk about nothing. Between the weed and the late hour and the history between them, everything sounds profound, even when it doesn’t mean a thing. Everything feels soft around the edges, and yet so much sharper.

“I know what you mean,” Liam says. and whoops apparently he said that out loud. His brain-to-mouth filter is questionable at the best of times, and when he’s high it disappears altogether. But he’s okay with that. He likes saying everything and nothing and knowing that the others will catch him.

“It’s like by focusing less on the details, the picture as a whole is that much more real,” Harry says. “So you can see the forest instead of the trees.”

“I wanna get lost in a forest,” Niall says. “Just wander off until I disappear. Until everything disappears.”

“We’d miss you though,” Louis says, laughing. “And you’d miss watching Derby.”

“No golf in the forest,” Harry adds.

Niall laughs too. “Okay, not everything, maybe,” he says. “But just like… detox, y’know. Get away from everything for a while. Purify and shit.”

 “Realign your chakmas,” Liam says.

“Chakras.” Niall and Harry correct him at the same instant, and Niall can feel his shrug beside him.

“Same difference.”

They lapse back into comfortable silence. Liam hands the blunt back to Niall, and he lifts it to his lips and inhales. The smoke burns his throat, his chest tingling, and then he exhales and watches the cloud of his breath form and fade.

“It’s funny,” Liam says, as Niall passes the joint along. “I think these are my favourite times. I love performing, and writing, and meeting people, all that shit. But I don’t need it, really.”

“And you do need us?” Niall can hear the grin in Louis’ voice. “Careful Liam, you’re getting sappy again.”

“I mean it though,” he says. “I love you guys, you know.”

Chuckles fill the room, but everyone says it back with no hesitation. It’s true. They love each other.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Louis says after a moment. “Sometimes I can’t tell if we’re on top of the world or on top of a cliff. But I’m not afraid. Not with you guys at my side.”

Niall hums in agreement. Some days are easier. Some days are hard. On the hard days, he has his best friends to pick him up, to have his back. On the better days, he does the same for them. When he struggles with the crowds, the others close ranks around him, making him feel safe and protected. When Harry has a cold, they take turns bringing him tea and blankets and cough drops and making sure he’s resting his voice. When Louis is feeling insecure about his voice, they sit him down and make him watch Best Of videos or read vocal analyses.

They take care of each other. They might rule the world, but they know it’s only because people have decided they’re worth it. It could still crumble. Niall doesn’t think it will, but it could. And if it does, the important things won’t change. They’ll still take care of each other. They’ll still be there for each other whenever they need it, whatever they need.


End file.
